


Sweet Confessions Underneath His Tongue

by thehoyden



Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-06
Updated: 2010-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-05 21:45:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehoyden/pseuds/thehoyden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was like a car wreck, really. You just couldn't look away. And Fraser looked up at Ray, with his expression like the cold fury of God.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Confessions Underneath His Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to Harukami, for the beta and daily audiencing, and for general hand-holding, and thanks to Dira Sudis for more beta work. A small portion of the dialogue is from the show transcripts, albeit slightly mutilated for my purposes. Title is taken from Sarah Slean's "My Invitation."

Welsh had a look on his face like he'd found a puppy in the gutter.

Which, considering Ray's current state, might not be all that far from the truth.

"Jesus, Kowalski," he said, many kinds of regret vying for a place in his voice. "How did they talk you into this?"

"Into what, sir?" Ray asked casually, like they both didn't know exactly why he was here.

Welsh sighed and leaned forward, resting his clasped hands on his desk. "I heard about you and Assistant State's Attorney Kowalski. I'm sorry." It was probably the nicest thing Ray had heard all day, because when Welsh said something like that, he meant it. Stone-cold sincerity was a rare commodity, and one that Ray appreciated when it showed up in his life. "Think she'll keep the name?"

Ray gave him a smile he didn't feel, not remotely. "Might as well - I'm taking another, aren't I?"

Welsh looked heavenward, as if praying for divine intervention. "You don't even look Italian."

"I'd say that's _their_ problem, wouldn't you?" Ray said nonchalantly. It was as close as they would ever get to naming Ray's real superiors.

"I think _they_ are a bunch of assholes, but that's just my own personal opinion. You think they got something on him?"

Ray shrugged, feeling indescribably tired in that one half-motion. "We'll see. Guess that's why they call us detectives."

Welsh pinned him with a hard stare. "Kowalski, you know what you're doing?"

Ray gave him another forced smile. "Becoming Ray Vecchio. See you tomorrow, sir."

* * *

There was no need to requisition files, not when he was sitting at the guy's desk. Files intact, computer password memorized, everything where the guy had left it, as far as Ray knew.

Welsh, he knew, believed Vecchio was clean. Which was as it should be. The Harding Welsh that Ray knew would never tolerate a cop he knew to be dirty to be working for him. So either there was nothing, and Welsh's belief was justified, or Vecchio was smoother than anyone had given him credit for. Ray didn't know which, and frankly, he preferred to reserve judgment. He'd met some of his temporary coworkers, and he couldn't say he thought much of their vindictive, witch hunter attitudes.

The rest of the 2-7 had looked shocked and frankly puzzled when Welsh had introduced him. When a cop went undercover, he went undercover - you didn't pull in a Polish cop with experimental hair and try and pass him off as Italian. So they continued to look confused, but Welsh stressed that it was for Vecchio's safety, and everyone seemed to think that Ray was a pretty stand up guy, nice to meet you, welcome to the family.

Jesus Christ, if they only knew, they'd hang him from the rafters.

Everyone was present and accounted for, except for the most important man in the investigation, excluding Vecchio himself. The Mountie. The man's unofficial partner, who was due back from Canada any day now.

Ray would have to be careful. Very, very careful. If Benton Fraser were half the detective the files seemed to indicate he was, then he'd be the first to sniff out Ray's real purpose. Ray would have to be friendly, but not too friendly - no sense in getting too comfortable with someone who may or may not be covering up a dirty cop's tracks.

This wasn't even the first time IA had been interested in Vecchio. There'd been a brief scuffle over alleged illegal entrapment, and various suspicious flags since then. So Ray would have a look around and see what was what.

* * *

This day had better not have been an indication of the way the rest of his investigation would go. Performance arsonists, deaf but amorous wolves, and an officially crazy unofficial partner.

Ray stretched in his chair, trying the pop his spine but failing. He put today's bizarre paperwork in the right folder, and tried to get the Motherwell files back into shape. As he was straightening things, he noticed a postcard.

He raised his eyebrows. A postcard. Was it evidence? A vacation memento? He flipped it over, and saw it was addressed to Benton Fraser.

Fraser walked out of Welsh's office at just that moment, so Ray picked up the Motherwell folder and the postcard and strolled over. "This turned up on my desk," he said. "It's for you...what do you make of it?" He held out the postcard to Fraser and carefully watched for a reaction.

Fraser looked initially puzzled, reading the message aloud. "It's a message," he told Ray. A quick flicker of the flame of a lighter, and Ray saw the postcard was actually a picture of Fraser and Vecchio.

From the way Fraser's face lit up, Ray guessed that he was in deep shit. Fraser was tight with Vecchio, and he was smart - if there were evidence against Vecchio, Ray couldn't rely on Fraser to stay out of the way. "Something I should worry about?"

"No, no. No, actually everything's all right. Everything is actually fine," Fraser said, still smiling broadly, not tearing his gaze away from the postcard.

Ray felt a sudden stab of anger. Vecchio better not be a slimy piece of shit after all - no one should be lying to someone they could make smile like that.

"Okay, well..." He turned to make his retreat, thinking absently about food. He'd never had lunch with all the excitement today, unless you counted the putty sandwich. Shit. Was there anything in his cupboards at home? Probably not. He could always put in a call to Sandor, although it seemed pathetic that the most frequent visitor to his apartment was a pizza delivery guy.

"Hey, Ray?" He looked in Fraser's direction, startled out of his train of thought.

Fraser seemed just this side of hesitant. "Would you like to go get something to eat with me?"

Ray felt himself smiling through his surprise. Going to dinner with Fraser would be a good way to get to know him a little better. It'd be a friendly let's-be-buddies thing, and maybe Fraser would let something slip.

Ray tried to push down the little voice that said at least he wouldn't have to eat alone tonight. "Yeah," he found himself saying. "I've just got to, uh, I'll put away these files and meet you at the car." God, he was so smooth. Not. Also, he had to quit smiling like it was the best invitation he'd had in the last three months.

Only problem was, it _was_ the best invitation he'd had in a long time.

* * *

Ray's day started earlier than expected via a very unwelcome phone call from Hallett. "Siracusa says Vecchio and Welsh are crooked, that they've been skimming off the top on drug busts."

Ray switched the phone from one ear to the other. "Siracusa is full of shit and you know it. Welsh isn't dirty, and Vecchio is my case, you got that?"

Hallett was dangerously close to whining. "Kowalski, we can't just let this slide."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not talking about letting anything slide. I'm talking about you letting me do my job before I kick some heads in."

"Brandau's on it," Hallett said, a little smug.

Brandau. Fuck. Brandau just wasn't sane on the subject of Welsh. Probably had something to do with the fact that Welsh put his shit-for-brains petty criminal of a brother behind bars.

"You tell Brandau to back off. I'm in the middle of an investigation, and I don't need him screwing up all my work."

"Kowalski, he's from the State's Attorney, you know I can't do that."

Ray sighed sharply. "Yes, you can. You tell him that IA is already dealing with the matter, please fuck off, thank you for shopping at Kmart."

Hallett, uptight little weasel that he was, became even more shrill. "This was just a courtesy call, Kowalski. Brandau and I are coming into the 2-7 today, and we need your cooperation."

"Unless that's an order from our lieutenant - have you spoken to him about this, by the way? - you guys are just shit out of luck. I've got plans today and my own investigation to run."

"Kowalski! Don't be stupid. You know who's on the books now as Vecchio - you piss off Brandau, he'll come after you."

Ray laughed, a short, annoyed bark. "Well, if he arrests me, he can't really use me to indict Welsh, now can he? Have fun wasting the taxpayer's money, Hallett. Some of us have real police work to do."

"You're just the same as us, Kowalski."

"You're wrong. I'm nothing like you." He hung up.

* * *

Ray started coffee, and grabbed his duffle bag. He had things to do today, none of which involved morons from the State Attorney's office with chips on their shoulders. He had a date with a signpost in his own personal road - a signpost by the name of Marcus Ellery. And provided Ellery had some scrap of humanity in him, he'd be at the right place at the right time.

He couldn't believe his luck, but he'd been curious when he saw the surname in the obituaries. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so surprised, after all - criminals had mothers too, and it was only sheerest luck that Ellery's mother had passed away and that Ray had looked at the right section in the paper on the right day.

He shoved binoculars in the bag. He was going to do this, fuck Brandau and Hallett, forget Welsh and the 2-7. He was going to do this, because it was all he _could_ do - he couldn't go forward to something new, and god knew he couldn't go back, not to Stella and his old life. He was trapped, running in place, trying to do the right thing, trying to catch the bad guy. It seemed now that they were unwilling to even let him do that - so fuck them, he was going to get one hell of a bad guy, one that had slipped through everyone's fingers. Nobody might care about Marcus Ellery anymore and what he'd done, but Ray was determined to make him pay for his crimes.

He added a bottle of scotch to the nearly full bag. He was ready.

* * *

Ray had settled in to wait. The crypt was shadowed, lit here and there by small windows, like the one that Ray was keeping watch through. He could hear the scuffling of rodents, which frankly creeped him right out, more so than hanging out in a graveyard.

He heard a new sound, and drew his gun and turned in the same breath. "Don't move," he warned.

"Hi, Ray," said a voice. Fraser. Ray lowered his weapon. "So we're on stakeout," Fraser said, coming into the light. "That's good. Who's the target?"

Like Ray was going to try and explain it. "None of your business," he said sharply.

Fraser tapped the side of his nose. "Ah. Secrecy. That's very wise." Then something about caribous and hallucinating.

Ray shook his head, as if to clear it. "Are you unhinged?" he demanded, confused and irritated.

"Not that I'm aware of," Fraser said placidly.

Wait a second. "Hey, how did you find me?"

"Well, you'd circled an obituary notice in a newspaper that was lying on a counter in your apartment."

He _what_? "Wait a minute, wait a minute. You broke into my apartment?" Ray asked him, disbelieving but prepared to be highly pissed off.

Fraser looked and sounded like the embodiment of sweet reason. "Well, no. That would be illegal. Your landlady simply let me in. She's very fond of you, by the way."

His landlady was _fond_ of him? He didn't care what Fraser said - the man was definitely unhinged. Ray couldn't believe that Fraser had tracked him down here. God, there hadn't been anything out in plain sight that would have given him away, had there? "You invade my castle, you track me down, you almost get your head shot off. You wanna tell me why?"

Fraser said that he'd brought Ray a birthday present, which was just nuts, and Ray pointed out that it certainly wasn't his birthday. Fraser made mules look reasonable, though, and finally Ray just had enough.

"Look, I'm not Ray," he said. Fraser deserved this much, at least. "I mean, I am Ray, but I'm not Ray Vecchio. I'm...Kowalski. Stanley Raymond Kowalski." If he couldn't tell Fraser the truth of his sudden entrance into Fraser's life, he could at least tell the man his real name.

* * *

"People are counting on you, Ray. They could lose their jobs."

Oh, like hell. "Let me get this straight. You want me to sit in front of a bunch of guys who are going to grill me about corruption that never happened, but if it did happen, it happened to another guy, but I'd have to answer for it anyway?"

"Yes," Fraser said, without hesitation. Which was a pretty interesting answer. Ray might not be tight with Fraser like Vecchio was, but Fraser clearly had some pretty high expectations of people around him. Annoying as hell right now, but it could be good news for his investigation.

"Forget it," Ray said, looking outside with his binoculars again.

"If you don't, Ray, you will lose your shield." Like that was the worse thing that could happen to him. He felt lately like he was damned if he did, and fucked if he didn't. Losing his shield might be a relief.

"Look, Fraser," Ray said. "I've humped this job for a long time. Bad hours, bad food, and bad guys. And for what?" Maybe Fraser would have an answer for that. Ray sure as hell didn't, not anymore.

"For the pride and honour of knowing that we make it possible for good people to tuck their kids in at night, turn out the lights and know they'll be safe." Ray stared at him. Fraser sounded like he was delivering unassailable truth, an inviolate gospel.

"You've got to be kidding me," Ray said, hushed. "You believe all that, never doubt it?"

"Never," Fraser said, and it was a benediction.

"You're a lucky guy, Fraser," Ray said wistfully.

* * *

"I was a con job then, and I'm a con job now," Ray had told Fraser, warning him, really.

Fraser brushed him off, though, and recited the list of Ray's citations, called him a man that he would be proud to have as a partner...and friend.

Fraser had also caused Ray a moment of panic when he realized that Fraser had used his fingerprints to look up his file. But rational thinking kicked back in and Ray remembered, with a deep breath, that he'd never worked for IA before, and there was nothing about his file that would scream, "I am trying to find out if your best friend is a crooked piece of scum."

And the friend thing. Maybe Ray shouldn't look at that too closely. He still had no idea of how far Fraser was willing to go for his friends.

In the end, Ray had abandoned his course of what Fraser had said to be "a wild kind of justice." One eclipse and one meeting with a criminal, and Ray's purpose in life was grimly reaffirmed.

He was a cop. And dammit, it might completely suck, and he might be working the scum of assignments right now, with the reigns held by IA, but he had a job to do and he was going to do it.

Marcus Ellery, in his way, had made Ray a cop. Fraser had said that Ray was a good cop, a worthy man. Now Ray had a few asses to kick, specifically those belonging to two certain intruders at the 2-7.

He and Fraser walked into the station a minute before five o'clock, and Ray gave Welsh a thumb-nosed salute - a combination, I'm-sorry-about-these-assholes and an I'm-sorry-about-ditching-you.

He followed Brandau and Hallett into Welsh's office and shut the door.

"You were supposed to be here," Brandau growled.

Ray smiled, fuck you very much. "Didn't get the memo from my boss," he said sweetly.

Brandau and Hallett exchanged glances. "Look, Vecchio is dirty. He swiped 9 kilos of heroin from the Siracusa bust."

"Really? Last time I checked, I was running the Vecchio investigation, and I have to tell you, I've seen no evidence of that so far. How did you plan to arrest Vecchio, anyway? Only person here is little old me, and ain't no way the feds are going to let you touch a Family member."

Brandau looked frustrated. "Look, don't give me a hard time about this. Vecchio and Welsh are in on this together."

Ray spread his hands. "Any evidence?"

Brandau shoved a evidence log under his nose. "Is this number a ten?"

Ray narrowed his eyes, having had quite enough. "No. It's a one and a happy face. Brandau, there's no way I'm sacrificing my investigation by claiming Vecchio is dirty before I have proof, and there's no way I'm helping you bring down a good man like Welsh when you've got nothing."

"Think about what you're doing," Hallett warned, like a toy dog trying to be threatening.

"I'm thinking that if you want to prove Vecchio is dirty with this evidence, you have Siracusa pick Vecchio out of a line-up." Ray ran his fingers over the spiky tips of his hair. "Who knows, maybe he'll put it down to Rogaine."

Brandau was practically gnashing his teeth in frustration. "What if I do put you in a line-up and I get lucky?"

"I'll take my chances," Ray said coolly. "But you've got nothing and I've got a job to do. Hope you find some place else to be by tomorrow."

* * *

The bar was a nice old place, busy but not too busy, with relatively secluded booths. Ray slid in across from Lieutenant Scislowicz, head of IA. Scislowicz fit awkwardly in the booth, being as tall as Ray, but built like a linebacker. Ray was mindful of Scislowicz's left leg, which stuck out at an awkward angle. The man had taken two bullets, one near the knee and one near the hip, and they in turn had damned him to a promotion.

"I ordered for you," Scislowicz said by way of greeting.

"What am I, your date?" Ray shot back, his lips twitching with a grin.

"You should be so lucky. How are things?"

A waiter came by and set down two beers. "Can't complain."

Scislowicz sipped from his beer, his gaze never wavering from Ray's face. "Anything so far?"

Ray shook his head. "Nothing yet."

"Well, keep at it. You being careful?"

"Careful as I can."

"Good." Scislowicz studied his beer for a minute. "You know they consolidated my division and Carroll's after he retired last month." Ray nodded. "I've got half again as many detectives to babysit as I did before. I can't be everywhere at once. I can't see everything."

Ray nodded. Stupid budget cuts.

"You need to keep your cover, no matter what. I didn't put you in there just to look into your alter ego."

Ray narrowed his eyes. That was the first _he'd_ heard about it. "That so?" he asked, leaning back in his seat.

Scislowicz looked tired. "You can't trust anyone, Ray. I mean it. Not in the 2-7, not in IA, not in State. There's one man in particular that I want you to keep your eye on." He slid a napkin across the table.

In block letters, it read: KILREA.

"Where there's one, there's more. Be careful, Ray."

* * *

Ray's desk was a mess on purpose. He was a lax housekeeper at the best of times, but his desk was really a work of art. Papers, files, fast food menus, and other assorted detritus were arranged to mask Ray's investigation. He was working a lot, although he was careful not to let his IA investigation extend his working hours to the point where it would cause any eyebrows to lift.

When he wasn't working, he found himself slipping into an easy routine with Fraser - dinner and hockey, an occasional movie. He hadn't meant to become so friendly with Fraser, but he couldn't help himself.

And Fraser was a first-class _freak_. He meant that in the nicest possible way, but it was true. Fraser was unexpectedly funny, and Ray found himself caught off guard by Fraser's deadpan teasing and understated Canadian humor. The man was just genuinely nice, and you couldn't say that about too many people. Ray wasn't quite sure why the hell Fraser wanted to hang around with him, but he was glad that Fraser continued to extend and accept invitations.

So sue him, he was lonely. Plus, the wolf was growing on him.

So in between Vecchio's caseload, which always grew monumentally weirder when Fraser was within a one-mile radius, he did as Scislowicz had asked and started digging around Kilrea. One look at the man's arrest stats set off all sorts of shrieking alarms in his head. If Kilrea wasn't playing kiss and tell with organized crime, Ray would eat Fraser's boots. One name in particular caught his attention: an up-and-comer named Andreas Volpe, whose ability to squirm his way out of charges was nothing short of miraculous.

So when he got a phone call from Volpe asking for a meet, Ray considered it a show of good luck and agreed.

* * *

Volpe was dead, his head hurt like hell, and there was one crazy bitch coming down the alley with a gun in her hand. "Take it easy, I'm a cop!" he croaked, levering himself off the ground.

She got off one shot before Ray hightailed it out of there, running madcap down the street, woozy and disoriented. He ducked into an alley next to a Chinese restaurant, the smell of day-old kung pao chicken ripe in the air next to the dumpster where he hid himself. He dragged his thankfully undamaged cell phone out of his pocket. "Shit, shit, shit," he chanted. "Come on, Scislowicz, pick it up!"

"Internal Affairs, Detective Hallet speaking."

Fuck. "Hallet, it's Kowalski. Is the Lieu there?"

"Sorry, Ray, he's unavailable. Want me to have him call you back?"

Ray rested his head against the brick wall behind him. "Yeah. Yeah, sure."

"Or better yet, tell me where you are and we could...pick you up."

Ray froze.

"There's a few people from State who'd like to introduce themselves. You're a friendly guy, aren't you, Ray?"

"Friendly, yeah, that's me. Listen, I gotta take a raincheck, so we'll have ourselves a nice tea party later. Much later. You can put it on the calendar, right? It goes under, 'When hell freezes over.'" Ray snapped the phone shut. He was so screwed. Who knew what the fuck Scislowicz was doing, besides not being around when Ray needed him.

Ray put his hand to his forehead and it came away red. He needed some place to think, and preferably, to stop bleeding. Someone just set him up, and people from IA and State were in on it. Jesus, they probably already put an APB on him - if he went to the 2-7, Welsh would have no choice but to arrest him.

He had to think. Jesus, what would Fraser do if...

He stood up so quickly he almost ill. He had to get to Fraser. If there was anyone who could help Ray now, it would be him.

* * *

Fraser was carefully dabbing something on his forehead that smelled worse, if possible, than the dumpster at the Chinese restaurant.

"So I get there, and it's a setup," Ray said, try not to wince as Fraser cleaned a few more small abrasions.

Fraser paused in his work. "You're certain?" he asked, before reaching for more hydrogen peroxide.

"Ow, ow, ow - _yes_, I'm sure it was a setup."

"Well. If gangland figures set you up, Ray, I'm certain that a simple blowback test conducted by IA will clear you of the charges."

"No good," Ray said, trying to keep his voice steady. "IA will - see, I had small arms certifications this morning. I'm covered in blowback."

"Ah." Fraser put away his first aid supplies. "So, if I may recap, you were lured to a meeting with a gangland figure, and at this meeting, the gangland figure was murdered, an event of which you have no memory. The uniformed officer arrived, you resisted arrest, and you then fled the scene of the homicide. Do you agree these are the facts of the scenario?"

When Fraser put it like that, it sounded even worse. "Did I just say that, or do I have a head injury?"

"Well, Ray, I'm afraid that I have no option. By the powers that are vested in me by the government of Canada, I am placing you under arrest." Handcuffs snicked quietly but with awful finality around Ray's wrists.

He stared at them for a few moments, stricken dumb, before he sprang to his feet. Jesus, hadn't Scislowicz warned him not to trust anyone? He couldn't believe that Fraser, of all people, would turn him in. "Fraser!" he cried, sick with fear. "Fraser, please, you can't. I don't have anywhere else to _go_!" He pulled fiercely at the cuffs, metal biting into his skin.

Fraser seized him by the shoulders, and god, the guy had one hell of a strong grip. "Ray, why can't you go to IA? Why can't you go to the Justice Department?"

Ray shook his head rapidly, then regretted it. "I can't, Fraser. I _can't_."

"What aren't you telling me?" Fraser asked, deadly quiet.

Ray stared at him mutely, unhappily.

Fraser shook him once, hard, and Ray stifled a gasp of pain as the motion jarred his head. "Ray. Please. What aren't you telling me?"

"What I can't tell you. What I can't tell anyone. God, Fraser, don't do this to me," Ray begged softly. "I swear, I'm as interested in justice with a capital J as you are. Please, Fraser."

Something must have clicked in Fraser's head, because his eyes widened. He stepped closer, one hand going to Ray's bound wrists, and his lips next to Ray's ear. "You're undercover."

Ray nodded once, his chin brushing against Fraser's serge-covered shoulder.

"But not as Ray Vecchio."

Ray stood absolutely still. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Or rather, not just as Ray Vecchio. You suspect corruption in the ranks of Internal Affairs and the State department?"

Why the fuck did Fraser have to be so _smart_?

"Can you prove it?" Fraser asked, still whispering.

Ray rested his head on Fraser's shoulder, and turned his face in toward Fraser's neck, his nose just brushing the warm skin above the stiff collar. "Not yet," he breathed. He was tired - he'd been whacked over the head, framed for murder, wanted by three divisions of the police department, and arrested by his only hope. He couldn't be blamed for taking a little comfort, especially since Fraser was practically cuddling him. If one forgot the handcuffs, that is.

"Ray, I have no intention of allowing anyone to charge you unjustly. You'll have to stay here - if they want you, they'll have to extradite you, and that will take time. You'll be safe here in the Consulate while I get the proof you need."

* * *

Fraser had gently but firmly steered Ray toward his cot with instructions to rest while Fraser finished up the consular paperwork he'd neglected during the day. Ray dozed quietly while listening to the comforting sounds of Fraser's pen scratching and paper shuffling. There wasn't a lot of room between Fraser's cot and his desk, so it gave Ray a curious feeling of intimacy, as though Fraser were really standing guard over him and protecting him while he slept.

Fraser had gone to the station today and retrieved some of Ray's sensitive files that he kept in a hollowed-out book. Thankfully, none of them had dealt with Vecchio - they were all on Volpe and Kilrea. Fraser had been typically close-mouthed, but Ray could just see the mental gears whirring away. He'd been to see one of Volpe's two rivals, and Ray had Sandor put out the word that Fraser wanted to see the other.

God, only the Mountie would think it was perfectly acceptable to go have a friendly chat with gangsters.

At some point, he stopped dozing and really fell asleep. At least that's what he thought, because in his dream, Fraser was talking to somebody.

"I'm about to embark on a somewhat devious course of action and I'm not entirely sure where my duty actually lies," Fraser said softly, sounding oddly conflicted.

Another voice answered him, tinny but distinct, as though from a bottom of a well: "Your heart is where your duty lies, son. Your head is just along to help with the driving. The Yank has enemies all around - find out who he fears, and you'll find the men responsible."

* * *

The next day passed in a whirlwind of near-disasters and last minute escapes, but Fraser still said nothing. Finally Welsh came to the Consulate in the evening, and Ray, still rumpled from yet another enforced nap, sat up on the cot.

"At nine a.m. tomorrow morning, they're coming to yank you out of here," Welsh said.

Ray struggled out of the blanket that Fraser must have covered him with. "I had nothing to do with this murder," he said, willing Welsh to listen.

"I believe you," Welsh said mildly, surprisingly.

"You do?"

"We have a mutual friend, you and I. His hands are a little tied at the moment, and he doesn't walk so good anymore, but he vouched for you."

_Scislowicz_. Thank god for that, at least.

Fraser looked deathly curious but he was keeping a lid on it, which Ray appreciated. He had enough on his plate right now - he really didn't want to have to evade or refuse to answer Fraser's questions.

He took a deep breath. "I think you need to take a look at Kilrea."

Welsh recognized it for the offering it was. "Kilrea," he repeated meditatively. "Should I ask where you obtained this information?"

Ray looked at him steadily and Welsh returned the gaze, before waving his hand. "Nevermind. Our mutual friend's word is good enough for me. You ready for tomorrow, Fraser?"

"As ready as possible, Leftenant." Welsh nodded and left.

Ray stood up. "Bathroom," he muttered by way of excuse, edging out past Fraser into the hallway.

He grabbed his coat and hurriedly shoved his feet into his boots. Scislowicz had his back, maybe if he could just get to him, they could get this whole stupid mess sorted out...okay, it would totally blow Ray's cover, but he was _not_ going to go to jail over this.

He hadn't counted on Diefenbaker blocking the exit. "Stupid dog, stupid dog!" he hissed.

Diefenbaker growled and barked sharply. Shit, Fraser was going to come running.

"C'mon, get out of my way!" Ray pleaded.

"Ray? Where are you going?" Fraser was walking down the hall, looking very concerned.

"Fraser, I can't just sit around here and wait for Cahill and his goons to come arrest me! I have to do something."

"Yes, you do, Ray," Fraser said, moving closer and touching his elbow gently, as if Ray were an animal that Fraser feared would bolt. "You have to trust me."

"Trust you, Fraser?" he asked, helpless to keep the miserable doubt out of his voice. "I don't even know if I trust me. You know, I don't think I whacked Volpe. But I can't remember details. That might have been my finger on the trigger."

"You didn't shoot that man," Fraser said firmly.

"How do you know? How do you know? How can you be so sure?" Ray asked. Part of him wanted Fraser's belief so bad he could drown in it, and the other part was shrieking, *Fraser, don't, you don't know a goddamn thing about me! *

"Because I know you. You're my partner. And you're my friend."

Ray sagged forward against him. "Jesus, Fraser," he moaned, half-relief, half-despair.

One of Fraser's hands cupped the nape of his neck, and the other went around him. "You trust me?"

An aborted, humorless laugh escaped Ray. "You're my partner, Fraser - I don't know how to do anything else."

* * *

Ray was cleared, Cahill and Kilrea went away, and things returned to whatever passed for normal at the 2-7. Welsh had always known why Ray was there, but since he didn't believe he had anything to worry about, he didn't let it bother him. He did seem to be appreciative that Ray and Fraser's work was contributing significantly to the station's overall case solve rate, though.

That wasn't the problem. The problem was Fraser. The problem was Fraser was always watching him now, with more intensity than before. Because now Fraser thought he _knew_. Sometimes Ray would be checking up on some things for an investigation, and he would look up to see Fraser watching him with this thoughtful expression.

That said, it was only a matter of time before the whole thing blew up in Ray's face.

He hadn't checked up on any of his Vecchio flags in weeks - he'd been busy keeping tabs on Hallett and Brandau, and few other scummy individuals. But today he'd just happened to pull a file, one file, on a previous IA investigation into Vecchio.

And Fraser, being Fraser, was accustomed to shuffling through his desk at will, so of course he just happened to accidentally unearth said file, knock it off the desk, and see the contents as he picked it up.

It was like a car wreck, really. You just couldn't look away. And Fraser looked up at Ray, with his expression like the cold fury of God.

Ray suspected he was in deep shit. The fact that Fraser was pulling him along down the hallway via a painful grip on his elbow was probably not a good sign.

Down the hallway, Fraser opened the closet door, shoved Ray in, and closed it behind the both of them with a bang.

"Tell me," he demanded.

"Tell you what?" Ray asked guardedly, playing for time, hoping that some excuse, somehow, would occur to him.

Fraser looked around behind him, as if to ascertain that they really were alone. Which was stupid, since they were in the _closet_. Not like there were many people hanging around in there on a regular basis. Fraser stepped closer, his whole body vibrating with suppressed emotion, and he hissed, "Tell me you are not investigating Ray Vecchio."

Ray closed his eyes. "Fine. I'm not investigating myself."

"Stop that. We both know you're not Ray Vecchio. Anyone can see that." Fraser made a gesture that somehow encompassed Ray's hair and clothes in one fell swoop.

"No, really? Because I thought everyone would be fooled."

"Ray Vecchio is a good man, a fine officer of the law," Fraser told him, his jaw clenched.

"Says _you_!" Ray shot back.

"Says me," Fraser said, and damned if that didn't sound like the gauntlet hitting the floor. "Everyone in this station knows it. I know it, Leftenant Welsh knows it, everyone knows it, Ray - why would you have just been assigned to this? Except - "

Ray watched with sickening dread as something processed in Fraser's brain and he went sheet-white.

"You weren't just assigned, were you? You've been doing this since the beginning, the very beginning - I _saw_ you, I just thought that - "

"I haven't lied to you, Fraser," Ray said quietly.

That was evidently the wrong thing to say. "You lied to me _every day_, Ray! Every day I thought you were here to protect Ray Vecchio's cover, every day I thought you were investigating corruption in IA and the State department, and here you were, investigating a good man in his absence, hiding under his name like a parasite!"

"You take that back," Ray growled. "You just take that back, Fraser - I _was_ protecting him, I _was_ investigating corruption, and not all of us get to wear bright red suits when we do our jobs!"

He was a little unprepared for the fist that connected with his jaw and propelled him into the shelves of copier paper.

"You're nothing like me," Fraser said, chest heaving, voice laden with enough hurt to break Ray's heart.

* * *

"A transfer?" Ray repeated, staring at the sheet of paper blankly.

Welsh leaned back in his chair. "If you want it. Take the weekend and think about it - you don't need to decide today."

Ray looked him in the eye. "Do you want me to go, sir?"

Welsh sighed. "I wish he hadn't assigned you in the first place."

Ray stiffened at that, but Welsh narrowed his eyes. "I wasn't finished. I thought it was too soon for you to go undercover again, let alone on this assignment. I don't know about anything else, but you've done damn good work here. If it were my choice, I'd take you off this assignment and post you on regular duty here."

Ray ducked his head, feeling warmth rise in his face. "Thank you, sir."

"But it's not up to me. Like I said, you think about it."

Ray looked out through Welsh's office window to see bright red across the room. "Frankly, sir, I'm not sure it's up to me, either."

* * *

Fraser was standing right in front of his desk, which meant he was probably really going to have to talk to the guy. "Something I can help you with, Fraser?" he asked politely, edging his way around to his desk chair.

"You should have put ice on it," Fraser said after a moment.

Ray squinted at him. "Huh?"

"Your...your jaw. You should have put ice on it."

Oh. Ray touched the discolored skin gently. "No big deal." And it wasn't, not really, no worse than he'd ever gotten in scuffles with his brother while growing up. The ones on his back, though - those hurt like hell and were truly ugly. Shelves, it seemed, were unforgiving bitches.

Fraser was still standing there.

"So is there something I can do for you?" Ray repeated, halfheartedly straightening a pile on his desk.

"I wanted to give you the opportunity to respond in like kind."

"Are you unhinged?" Ray asked incredulously.

"Not on this point. Fair is fair, Ray."

"No, see, you are unhinged. We had a fight, you socked me, end of story. I'm not hitting you back, Fraser."

Fraser was starting to look pissed off again, and that was really not a place Ray wanted to return to. "Why not?"

Ray took a deep breath. "Look, it doesn't matter."

"Ray, it _does_ matter. I lost my temper and I struck you - that's not _right_, Ray."

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. Look, Fraser, I'll tell it to you straight - they offered me a transfer. You say the word, I'm outta here."

Fraser frowned. "Where would you go?" he asked, as if he truly couldn't fathom an alternate location.

Ray shrugged, and then winced as his tender back complained. "Somewhere else. Don't know." Don't care, his mind added. He grabbed his jacket. "I'm going home for the weekend. You think about it, huh?"

He patted Dief's head on his way out, and the wolf whimpered at him. "Me too, buddy, me too," he said, feeling as if, for once, he knew exactly what Dief was talking about.

* * *

Maybe he wouldn't make dinner. Maybe he'd just eat strawberries.

His landlady's niece had brought her far more than she could handle, or so she said, so she'd gifted some to Ray. Turned out Fraser was right - she _was_ fond of him.

He eased himself down on to the couch, with a bowl of strawberries in easy reach. No game tonight, but maybe there'd be a halfway decent movie on television. Then maybe a hot bath, and he'd go to bed early. Not like there was much else for him to do, anyway.

Maybe Welsh was right. Maybe it had been too soon. At the time, though, the prospect of ditching his name, his division, and his shitty post-Stella apartment had seemed too good to pass up. He hadn't been wild about the IA part, but he hadn't thought too hard about it.

On the tube, Harrison Ford was running like hell down the stairs, with Tommy Lee Jones in close pursuit. And okay, it was dubbed into Spanish, but whatever.

There was a knock at his door. "What?" he called.

"Ray, it's me." Fraser. Like it would be anyone else.

Well, he could hardly pretend not to be home, could he? "It's open," he said finally.

Fraser opened the door and walked inside, hat in hand.

Ray didn't have much in the way of a conversational opener. "Strawberry?" he offered.

Fraser blinked and seemed to finally register his stretched-out form on the sofa and the conveniently-located bowl of fruit. "I...yes, thank you kindly." He sat carefully in the armchair, his knee almost brushing Ray's toes.

The strawberries clashed with Fraser's uniform. Ray watched him select one from the bowl and then eat it slowly, carefully, and somehow, he even managed to dispose of the hull gracefully.

Just say it, Ray thought. It could all be over if Fraser would just tell him to go.

"I believe I owe you an apology."

Ray waited, mostly because that seemed completely out of left field, and he didn't know what to say.

"I...when I first met you, Leftenant Welsh asked me to give you what he called, 'a fair shake.' He said you were a good police officer. He knew, too, that you were working for IA, didn't he?"

Ray sighed. "Fraser, remember that thing where you're not supposed to know any of this and I'm not supposed to tell you?"

"He knew," Fraser continued on, heedless. "And while he had made his opinion of IA known many times, he never expressed anything other than confidence and trust in you."

Ray pointedly refused to look at him, and picked another strawberry from the bowl. It was weird, all mutant-shaped. "Harding Welsh stands by his detectives."

"He had nothing to fear," Fraser translated. "You fended off Detectives Hallett and Brandau during the eclipse. No," Fraser stopped. "You did more than fend them off. You sent them packing. Why?"

The mutant berry had been overripe. Ray licked the juice from his lips before answering. "They had no proof. I know what you must think of me, Fraser, but I don't like witch hunts."

"No. No, you don't," Fraser said thoughtfully. "You've been here almost a year. Why haven't they moved you on? Is it that you still have no evidence against Ray Vecchio, or is it that your undercover capacity is far too useful to your superior?"

Ray flicked his eyes toward him. Fraser was learning forward in his seat, his gaze fixed on Ray.

"You don't want to take the transfer. You...don't hate your work."

It was like playing verbal Marco Polo, with Ray sitting outside the metaphorical swimming pool. Fraser had noticed that he wasn't going anywhere.

"You believe your work to be important. You built the case to expose and indict Kilrea. And Officers Niels and Spencer - that was your doing as well, wasn't it?"

Ray reached for another strawberry.

"And in spite of all of this, you told me of the transfer you'd been offered. In fact, you offered to leave on my say so. Why?"

Ray sucked the berry into his mouth and chewed deliberately.

"Come now, Ray. This can hardly be a matter of information security."

He made a face as he bit into the next strawberry - it was distinctly bitter, and not at all what he'd been expecting after such a good batch. He carefully levered himself off the couch and went to spit it out in the sink. "Look," he said finally, facing away from Fraser. "I trust you. Every single time, I trust you. But if that doesn't go both ways, this partnership isn't doing anything but sinking."

He heard a sharply indrawn breath from across the room. "How can you say that? I _have_ trusted you, Ray, time and again, when you gave me absolutely no reason to do so!"

Ray leaned forward against the counter, bracing himself on his arms. "So what made the other day so different? Why didn't you trust me then? Why did you automatically assume that I was out to screw you over?"

Fraser didn't respond, but Ray heard his footsteps crossing the room.

"I mean, should I expect that to keep happening? Am I never gonna know when I can count on you and when I can't? 'Cause if that's the deal, Fraser, we're quits. That's not partners."

"Ray." A hand on his shoulder. "Please look at me."

Ray waited a moment, dread sitting like a rock in his stomach. Then he slowly turned around to face the music.

Fraser was a lot closer than he'd thought. "Ray, my father says...my father said that partnership is like a marriage. Up and down, give and take."

Ray nodded slowly.

"I don't want us to be quits, Ray." Fraser was about ten different kinds of earnest, and Ray didn't have defenses against any of them.

"Okay. So are we still partners, then?"

Fraser did a nervous lip-lick, but said, "If you'll have me."

And maybe it was the way that Fraser had completely invaded his personal space, trapping him with his back against the kitchen counter, but Ray didn't think they were exactly talking about work anymore.

He was still looking at Fraser's lips, when he remembered that maybe he should respond. "Um. Yeah. I'll, um, have-"

Fraser kissed him. And not in some weird, possibly Canadian friendly type way. More in a hand on nape of neck, arm around the waist, tongue in mouth, I-claim-this-man-in-the-name-of-Canada way.

And, wow. Ray had almost forgotten how good it could be, except it'd never been quite like this before. He slowly wrapped his arms around Fraser, his hands clutching at the broad muscles of Fraser's back. Fraser had been kissing him slowly, purposefully, but seemed to take Ray's embrace as encouragement. Which was great, it was fantastic, it would have been just fine except that Fraser's hand moved up Ray's back to his bruises, and Ray squeaked in a rather undignified manner.

Fraser pulled back, and then instantly looked embarrassed. "Forgive me, Ray, I know I was -"

Ray interrupted with, "It's not you, well, it was sort of you, but really it was - "

"-taking advantage of you, but I only meant it as a sort of, well, _declaration_ \- "

"-the shelves, so not your fault, and it was really great, so we could, you know - "

"-of intent, you see, although of course I wouldn't be opposed to, that is, I hope to - "

"Do it again," they said together in a rush.

After a few moments, Fraser frowned slightly. "Turn around, please."

"Fraser!" Ray said indignantly. "Slow down a little there, partner, I was only talking about necking on the couch or something - I don't know how it is in Canada, but normally here we lead up to that sort of thing!"

Fraser blushed. "Ray, you misunderstand, I only wanted to examine your injuries. I had no intention of...well."

Ray narrowed his eyes suspiciously but turned around.

"May I?" Fraser asked, painfully polite.

Ray nodded hesitantly, and felt Fraser's warm fingers slide his shirt up his back. Fraser gently touched the bruised skin, and Ray tried to remember that breathing was generally a good thing.

"They're not as bad as they could have been, although I think you could benefit from several salves I could recommend."

"Better not be that pregnant mucous stuff, Fraser. That stuff stinks," Ray warned.

"No, I was thinking of commercially available remedies," Fraser said, slowly lowering his shirt. Ray noticed that Fraser's hands were smoothing his shirt down in a way that wasn't strictly necessary.

Ray turned around to face Fraser again. "So. Um. You want to maybe..." he leaned forward, but Fraser shook his head. "Why not?"

"Well." Fraser cleared his throat. "I realize that we were raised somewhat differently, Ray, but I believe there's a time and place."

Ray stared at him incredulously. "You have something against the kitchen?"

"Well, not the kitchen, per say. More that I agree with your assessment that we ought to move incrementally."

"Oh." Ray considered this. "It's not that I have cold feet, or anything, I'm good to go, I just -"

"With respect, Ray, I think the both of us could benefit from a courtship period."

"A _what_?"

"A transition, if you will. We could start with conversation, followed by dinner engagements, perhaps dancing..."

Ray squinted at him. "You know, Fraser, we already do those things. Well, except for the dancing."

Fraser acknowledged the point with a nod. "While that's true, Ray, I think that intent will make all the difference."

"Intent, huh." Somehow, it should not surprise him that dating Fraser was going to be like something out of _The Quiet Man_. Ray was no Maureen O'Hara, but he could deal.

Fraser was looking at him carefully. "You're amenable to this plan?"

"Oh, I'm amenable. You got no idea how amenable I am."

"Ah. Well, then." Fraser retrieved his hat, and they both walked to the door. "I'll take my leave of you, then. May I see you tomorrow?"

"Fraser," Ray sighed, "you are such a freak. Yes, you may see me tomorrow. Just one thing before you go, though?"

Fraser looked at him expectantly.

"I'd just like to, you know, demonstrate my own intent. Just so you're sure." With that, he pulled Fraser forward via a good grip on the front of the uniform, and concentrated on giving the best good night kiss he could. Fraser's lips were, god, so soft, so welcoming. A little tongue to make sure Fraser knew that the kitchen was no accident, and his hand brushed down Fraser's back below the belt.

Ray released him, and Fraser actually looked dazed. Which was pretty flattering, actually.

"Good night," Ray said, not entirely willing to shut the door.

Benton Fraser gave him a glorious smile. "Good night."

* * *

"Fraser, first off: If there are horse-and-buggies, and drunken Irish chaperones, I'm out."

Fraser blinked. "As I thought we might walk, I think I can set your mind at ease on that point. Although, perhaps Diefenbaker qualifies as a chaperone of sorts."

Dief barked several times in succession, and Fraser's ears turned red. "I most certainly will _not_ be bribing you to look the other way."

Ray chuckled and locked his apartment door. "So, where are we off to?"

"I thought we might go to the park for a bit," Fraser said. It was then that Ray noticed that Fraser was carrying a picnic basket. An honest-to-god, old-fashioned picnic basket, with a plaid blanket resting on top.

"If there is any random breaking out into Irish songs..." he muttered.

"I'll try to avoid it, Ray," Fraser said. "Although of course, I can't be responsible if an entire group of people should decide to do so and simultaneously dance in a coordinated fashion."

Ray looked at him. Just the corner of Fraser's mouth was turned up, but it gave the game away.

"Shall we?" Fraser asked, gently steering him down the hallway with a hand carefully placed on the small of his back.

Ray might have glared at Fraser, since he'd done the same with any woman he'd dated, except that it was kind of...nice.

The park was the same one they'd gone to many times before. Nothing fancy, just a lawn, some ancient trees and overgrown lilac bushes, and a scuffed-up, industrial strength set of swings. It was a beautiful Saturday, though, and clearly they hadn't been the only ones planning to spend a sunny day at the park. Dief was almost immediately set upon by two preschool-looking kids, who were probably going to run him ragged and then feed him ice cream.

Fraser led them over to a spot underneath a huge oak tree, to a spot where the sun just cast a dappled light on the grass. He spread out the picnic blanket with one perfect snap of his wrists, which was not even possible by the laws of physics in Ray's world. Fraser was a law of physics unto himself, though, so Ray went with it.

Ray settled onto the blanket, his back against the tree and his legs crossed at the ankle. He'd cleaned up his boots and put on a newer pair of jeans - maybe it might not seem like much to others, but to him, it counted as effort. Fraser had said that intent mattered; Ray had plenty of intent, and he intended to show Fraser that he might be nervous - okay, scared shitless - but he was definitely serious.

"So, Fraser," he began, and then stopped himself. Intent was being serious, serious was being honest. "I have a confession to make."

Fraser stopped unpacking the basket and gave him his full attention.

Ray rubbed the back of his head nervously. "It's not like I don't know your first name. I do. It's just that before, I was trying to..."

"Keep your distance," Fraser finished, and it was so completely cool for Fraser to be on the same wavelength with him, even in this.

"Yeah. Didn't work too well, huh?" Ray said. He swallowed. "And so, you know, I'd like to call you by your first name, except that I don't know what you like to be called, exactly. And I'm pretty big on being called what you want."

Fraser pressed a bottle of water into his hand, and his fingers strayed over Ray's. "I think I'd like if you called me Benton."

Ray looked at their hands clasped around the plastic, and then looked up at Fraser's face. He was smiling gently. Ray felt the answering smile on his own face, but feared it was probably a pretty goofy one. "Um. Okay. Benton."

Benton turned back to the picnic basket and pulled out sandwiches. Ray felt his grin stretch wider as he saw that Benton had neatly cut the crusts off, like Ray's mom used to do when he was little. Ray habitually pulled off the crusts when eating lunch at work, and often as not, fed them to Dief on the sly. Intent was paying attention to the little things, and Ray should have known that Benton had that covered.

"Egg salad?" Benton asked. Like he had to - he knew it was Ray's favorite. He gave one to Ray and took one for himself, settling next to Ray with his back to the tree. There was more than enough room, but Benton had scooted close enough that the outside seams of their jeans were pretty snug against each other. "You know, Ray, I've seldom done undercover work, and the times that I have, it was only for a few days. I find myself quite in awe of your assignments."

Ray could feel heat rising in his cheeks. "It's nothing special. I mean, going undercover as a cop isn't much of a stretch."

"In a way, I think it would be much worse for that - a familiar environment where you are used to acting one way, but because of the constraints of the assignment, are unable to."

"What?"

"I imagine it must have been very lonely," Benton said softly.

Ray looked at his sandwich. Benton had even cut it into perfect triangles. "It was pretty different - I mean, I couldn't get too close, I didn't know who to trust-"

"But you trusted me."

Ray finished half his sandwich, and tried to think of the right words to say. "I was in a pretty bad place when I first met you. It was hard to see why I should care anymore, exactly. Seemed like everything was dirty every way I looked, and there was no way out that I could see. But you...you're like a lighthouse." He felt Benton go still beside him, so he kept going. "Didn't matter how dark things were - I just had to look at you to know which way to go."

He felt naked after saying something like that, laying it all out for someone else to see. The problem was that he hadn't done this in so long, and he'd forgotten how completely exhilarating and terrifying it was at the same time.

Also, there was this thing where Benton had leaned over and pressed a heartfelt kiss to his lips.

"You crazy?" Ray whispered after he pulled away. "Anybody could have seen."

Benton cleared his throat meaningfully. "I'm afraid that's quite impossible, Ray. You see, I chose this spot in particular because it afforded a measure of...privacy."

"Oh," Ray said, considerably relieved. Then it clicked in his head. "Wait a second. You staked this spot out ahead of time?"

Benton met his eyes, and swallowed. "Yes, I did."

Ray leaned closer. "You came here early just to find a spot where we could be...alone?"

Benton's warm breath tickled his lips. "We're not, strictly speaking, alone, but no one can see-"

"Benton," Ray cut him off gently. "I think we're going to need that drunken Irish chaperone after all."

"Ray, I realize my course of action was a bit devious, but would you mind terribly if we -"

"I am all yours," Ray said, and Benton required no further encouragement. He just tilted his head and met Ray's lips with his own, kisses sweet as this day. It was slow and languid and somehow made the last year of hell worth it, to be kissing Benton Fraser in the dappled afternoon sunshine.

Somebody should be keeping half an eye out on their surroundings, but hell if it was going to be him. Besides which, those sweet kisses of Benton's were getting a lot more heated. His mouth might say, "Ray, I want to build our relationship based on trust and mutual respect, which would be best served by moving slowly," but his body was definitely saying, "Look, Ray, a horizontal surface. Let's make use of it."

Speaking of which, there was a warm thigh pressed between his. He broke the kiss abruptly. "Benton, I hate to say this, but we can't make out in the park."

Benton was panting slightly, and his hair was just a touch disheveled. "No?"

Ray gently pushed him off. "Not in the park."

They were quiet a minute. "Not in the park?" Benton asked finally. "Does this mean it would be acceptable in an alternate location?"

* * *

"Welsh is gonna take you off the case," Dewey said. "You have to go to the hospital, man."

Ray gritted his teeth. "The hell I do," he said, winding the gauze around his head.

"Jesus, Kuzma practically bites your ear off and you still want this case?"

"Kuzma is a freak-show cop-killer, and he's my collar. Besides, it's not like he has rabies."

Dewey snorted. "Yeah, you hope so. You start frothing at the mouth, though, and we'll have to put you down."

"That's real nice of you, Dewey. Really butters my muffin. Tear me off a piece of tape, will you?"

Dewey fumbled with the tape and then handed him a piece. "Fraser'll be pissed that you didn't go to the hospital."

"Yeah, well, you let me worry about him. I gotta go talk to Welsh," Ray said, examining his makeshift dressing in the mirror. It looked like crap.

And as Dewey predicted, Welsh did indeed take him off the case, and nothing pissed Ray off like being so close and then getting his hands slapped away.

Benton arrived just as Ray had been banished to clearing out the riffraff. He stopped and stared. "Ray, what happened to your ear?"

Ray rolled his eyes. "I was playing kiss and tell with Kuzma, what do you think? He got a little frisky, that's all." And practically bit his ear off, but Ray wasn't going to mention that.

Benton's eyes narrowed. "I think it would be best if I took a look at it."

"Benton, I'm _fine_. It's just a little-"

"Ray, please," Benton said, voice low.

Ray caved. "Alright, alright, not here. Interview One, okay?"

Benton wasn't one to gloat, thank god. Once inside the room, he had Ray sit down and he slowly unwound the bandage from Ray's head. "Did you do this yourself?" It was Benton's carefully disguised, _Ray, you idiot_ tone.

"Dewey watched."

Benton actually snorted. "Much good it did you. I think we actually ought to go to the restroom - you didn't wash the area very well." He paused. "Which tends to happen when you can't see the wound in question."

"Okay, enough, message received," Ray muttered. "I should have let someone else do it for me."

"Ideally you'd have gone to the hospital," Benton corrected. "Which I'm assuming you refused to do."

"Look, like I said, it was no big deal, it was - Kuzma!" Ray saw him pass by the door and jumped out of his seat and ran into the hallway. "Kuzma, you little freak show, come on, come on!"

Welsh held him back and shoved him in Benton's direction. "Constable, sit on him, will you?"

"Gladly, sir," Benton said politely, steering Ray back into Interview One.

Ray tore himself out of Benton's grasp and punched the wall, hard. His hand hurt like hell, and also, he'd actually made a hole in the wall. "Dammit," he said, carefully flexing his hand.

"All right?" Benton asked solicitously.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Benton inspected the wall for damage. "Well, at least it's not a very big hole, and we can be thankful that you didn't choose to punch concrete, although - oh dear."

Ray turned, because that was one funky tone of voice that Benton had going on. "Oh dear what?"

"Ray, look."

Ray did. And then he looked again. And again. "Jesus," he said finally. "Jesus Christ, Benton, there's a dead guy in the wall."

"So it would appear," Benton said, and then he began to pry away parts of the wall, making the hole bigger.

Ray squinted at the dead guy. "So not only is he in the wall, but he's plastic-wrapped for freshness?"

Francesca took that moment to barge into the room uninvited, a folder in her hand. "Hey Ray, here are the - oh my god. Oh my god. He killed him, oh my god!" she said, her voice rough with hysterical disbelief. She turned and ran out of the room.

Ray sighed. "Look, you go see what that's about, and I'll get the dead guy out of the wall."

"Right you are, Ray."

Which left Ray alone in the room with Mr. Sealed-For-Your-Protection. "Can't have a normal day," Ray said. "Have to have some freak try and bite off my ear, have to find some dead guy in the wall..."

Benton walked back in. "Apparently, his name is Guy Rankin. Francesca is pulling the file for us as we speak."

"Yeah?" Ray studied the body in the wall. "Come on, help me out here. So what's her deal?"

Benton obediently grabbed onto the body and helped Ray remove it from the wall. "Francesca believes that Ray Vecchio killed him."

"No shit?" Ray said, as they maneuvered the dead body onto the floor.

"She says he threatened to do so."

"Benton, I know he's your friend and you want to be objective and all, but listen to me - I've been looking at him for awhile, and I'm telling you that there's no way that Vecchio put this guy in the wall."

Benton smoothed one eyebrow with his thumb. "Francesca seems quite convinced. I think we have to consider - "

"No, no we don't. Look, Benton, I got instincts, and my instincts are saying, 'No way, Jose.'"

"Ray, I really think we need to turn this over to Internal Affairs - "

"No, no, no, and no again. You do that, we're going to get some fuckhead like Hallett involved, who would just love to 'accidentally' break my cover to get back at me. Benton, we just need a little time to find out who really did this."

Benton was staring at him. "Ray, you're talking about suppressing evidence."

"Delaying, Benton, de-lay-ing. We need to find the guy who did this."

Benton looked troubled. "How long are we talking about?"

"I can hold on to this room till the end of my shift."

Francesca came in again, looking ill. "I can't find the file. But here are maintenance records - looks like this wall went up almost 90 days ago." She swallowed. "I'm gonna go check the files again to see if I can find Rankin's." She fled the room.

Ray looked at the file. "Okay, Benton, I think you should go talk with DeNardo - he owns the company who did the dry wall." He pulled his car keys out of his pocket. "Benton," he said seriously. "Vecchio didn't do this, and I know you can prove he didn't. I don't know how long I can hold on to this room, so in the interests of time, I will trust you with my baby, whom you will be very good to and under no circumstances will you blow up." He threw the keys at Benton, who caught them neatly.

"Ray," Benton said softly, wonderingly.

"Be quick," Ray advised. "Oh, and Benton?"

He stopped at the door. "Yes, Ray?"

"For nobody else do I hang out with shellacked dead guys, you got me?"

Benton went still, and then crossed the room to him again. He carefully took his Stetson off and settled it on Ray's head. "I'll be right back," he said, punctuating his promise with a peck on the lips.

Ray watched him go, Stetson lopsided on his head, in a room with a dead guy. "Can't have a normal day," he sighed.

* * *

It was totally whacked. "Extortion, carrying a concealed weapon, resisting arrest," Ray muttered to himself, looking over Rankin's file. "And he walks?"

It had been Stella's case, so he caught her in the hallway. But all she could tell him was that Vecchio had failed to read Rankin his rights, so off the guy went. Also that Vecchio might have used a little more force during arrest than was necessary.

Vecchio smacking Rankin around for messing with Frannie, Ray could understand. But no way did Vecchio shellack the guy while still alive and then put him in a wall.

He caught up with Huey in the men's room, who had assisted the arrest. "Hey, how can you not remember three months ago? You, Vecchio, Guy Rankin. He was released. You forgot to read him his rights. Look, I found the file, Jack."

Kuzma had apparently gotten fresh with Huey too, from the way he was gingerly dabbing at his bleeding jaw. "What the hell is the matter with you? You trying to get a job in Internal Affairs or something?"

Ray smiled at him, all teeth. If only he knew. "I'll let that pass, once."

Huey sighed. "Look, Ray Vecchio had some personal thing with Rankin. I didn't know. I didn't ask. All I know is that Rankin walked out of here in one piece, now no one's seen him since. Guys like him go missing."

"Yeah. Thanks, Jack."

Huey flipped him off from the sink, but he ignored it and went back to Interview One.

Benton slipped into the room. "The Leftenant wants use of this room. We have to move him," he told Ray.

What followed was the most seriously bizarre thing ever - wheeling a corpse around a fucking _police station_, making like Weekend At Bernie's while trying to dig up dirt on DeNardo. DeNardo, it turned out, had a few priors, so Ray had Frannie give him a call to ask him to come into the station.

DeNardo looked pissed, but not half as pissed as he was going to look when Ray was done with him.

"Look," Ray said smoothly. "My lieutenant, he's nuts for paperwork. I just need you to sign a statement that says nothing got stolen from your worksite."

"Can we make it quick? I'm double-parked," DeNardo bitched. "Hey, what happened to your ear?"

"Nothing," Ray said shortly.

"It was a woman, huh?"

Ray saw Benton choke back a laugh. Because while the ear thing had been Kuzma, the hickey on his neck was all Benton, who apparently became part-wild animal when he had Ray underneath him on the sofa. "Have a seat," Ray said, showing DeNardo into Interview One. "I'll just go get those forms."

DeNardo took the bait (as Ray had suspected he would), lifting up the poster Ray had patched over the hole in the wall. And when confronted, he went a little nuts (as Ray suspected he might). Unfortunately for him, he attempted to take Guy Rankin hostage. Then it was all over, except for Benton's ear anecdotes.

"I never did get a chance to put antibiotic ointment on your wound, I'm afraid," Benton said, looking over Ray's ear again in the bathroom.

Ray rolled his shoulders, trying to dispel some of the day's tension. "So let's go back to my apartment and you can put that disgusting pregnant moose stuff on it. You know, Benton, we did good work today."

"I confess I was unsure that our course of action was the correct one. But you," Benton leaned close to his uninjured ear. "You never wavered. You were absolutely certain that Ray Vecchio was innocent."

Ray shivered a bit as Benton's words ghosted warm air into his ear. "Hey," he said weakly. "I've been doing this for awhile - I know what's what."

"Indeed," Benton said, tracing the hickey on Ray's neck with one finger.

"Right," Ray said. "Um."

"We should go back to your apartment," Benton suggested.

"Yeah," Ray said, brain already checked out. "So, are we - "

* * *

"-finally going to have sex?" Ray gasped.

Benton intently stripped off Ray's jeans and boxers together. "As we're both naked, and in your bed, that seems likely."

Ray shuddered at the wonderful surety in Benton's tone. "I mean, not that we haven't had sex before, I just meant that-"

Benton roughly pulled open the nightstand drawer and dragged out lube and condoms without even looking.

"Thank you, god," Ray said fervently, pulling Benton on top of him and clasping his thighs around Benton's hips. No more couch only. Never before would he have characterized himself as someone who was just _dying_ to get fucked, but that was before he spent four months on his living room couch with Benton's mouth on his cock and Benton's fingers up his ass. Which was great, really, Ray wasn't complaining, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that if you took Benton, all sweaty and completely hot while rubbing himself off against Ray and panting in his ear, and combined it with hi! and welcome to your prostate, tours conducted by lube and Benton's thick fingers...

He moaned, just thinking about it.

And really, one of the best parts about getting down and dirty with Benton Fraser was that his prim-and-proper, no-after-_you_ attitude went right out the window. Once Benton had determined that it was okay to want Ray, and furthermore, okay to _have_ Ray, he indulged himself whenever he wanted. So if it was between hockey periods, and they weren't completely sacked out, Ray could pretty much count on being pounced as soon as the end-of-period buzzer rang, with Benton taking great pleasure in reintroducing his tongue to Ray's ears, nipples, cock, whatever. It wasn't like Benton was the only one who ever pounced, but four months had proved over and over again that Benton seriously got off on being the one in control, and Ray had found that he really, really liked giving it up to him.

He'd usually been nominally clothed during said pouncing, which made this whole being completely naked thing not only new, but absolutely fascinating. Benton had pulled back to look at him, and damn. Sweat made his hair curl a little in the front, and combined with Benton's tongue sticking out a little at the corner of his mouth, the man was just sex personified.

Ray settled back, oh-so-casually resting his hands above his head. _Come and get it_, he willed his smile to say.

Benton, it appeared, was all over that idea.

And fuck breathing, who needed to breathe when you had Benton's talented tongue circling your nipples, painting its way down your chest, dipping into your navel?

"Ray," Benton said, without looking up. "Remember to breathe."

"Or what?" Ray asked, panting slightly.

"Or I won't do this," Benton said, before pushing Ray's ass up slightly, parting his cheeks, and oh good god, going straight for the prize with that beautiful, perfect, wonderful mouth.

Ray drew in a surprised breath, because hello, new thing, this had sure as hell never happened on the couch, and Ray wanted to know _why the fuck not_. Those were some really interesting noises he was making, some sort of cross between a gasp, a moan, and a squeal. And damned if Benton wasn't moaning right back, like exploring Ray's hole with his tongue was the best entertainment he'd had in _forever_, and maybe it was. It sure as hell had shot to the top of Ray's list, every flick of Benton's tongue against him and every thrust into him making him want to just stay splayed out like this for Benton for the rest of his life.

It wasn't the easiest position to keep though, so eventually Benton just growled and turned him over on his stomach, before going right back to town on him. Ray felt all sweaty and shaky, and tongue was great but it wasn't long enough, wasn't what he wanted anymore. "God, Benton," he gasped. "Aren't you going to fuck me?"

He could feel Benton go still, before pushing his tongue into Ray one last, deliberately lazy time, withdrawing to swirl around Ray's entrance. "Trust me," he said, his voice husky, sending shivers up Ray's spine.

And sure enough, Benton's fingers spread lube into him, and he was down with that, his body had danced this tango so many times before, writhing on his back on the couch while Benton sucked his cock and finger-fucked him into oblivion.

It was new because he couldn't really see Benton as well when he was on his stomach, with his face turned sideways on the pillow. Still, he pushed back onto Benton's fingers, humping mindlessly until he just got way the hell too impatient. "Benton," he rasped. "Sometime today?"

Whoa. Apparently that was the right tack to take, because Benton's fingers left his ass. There was motion behind him, and he was left wondering what was going on for a minute before Benton answered all of his questions, via one hand pulling his hips up and the other grasping the nape of his neck, and a hard blunt pressure resting against entrance.

"Ray?" Benton asked, making sure.

"Benton," he sobbed. "God, I love you, please, just _do it_-"

Benton slid in slow, hot, perfect, and Ray was so full, so stretched, and _oh god_ -

Benton pushed into him a few times, not really thrusting, just a little motion, and he changed the angle just a bit and rubbed against Ray's prostate, and Ray cried out helplessly.

Which was apparently what Benton was waiting for, because he started to put some real muscle in behind his thrusts, and Ray moaned and breathlessly pleaded with Benton for more, more, don't stop, _harder_ -

And Benton bent forward over Ray's back, his arms sliding around Ray's middle, his breath coming in harsh pants in Ray's ear, and just gave it to him, groaning and slamming his hips against Ray's ass, and there was no way this could keep going.

One more thrust and Ray just _wailed_ as he came, warmth spreading over his belly. Benton held out a little longer, slowing to a few last, long thrusts into Ray before squeezing Ray tight and letting out one long groan as he emptied himself into Ray.

Benton slowly collapsed forward on top of him, and for a while, Ray's world narrowed down to the feel of their sweat-slicked bodies pressed together as they both tried to catch their breath.

Eventually, Benton pressed a kiss to the back of his neck and slowly pulled out. Ray winced a little but it wasn't too bad, and then Benton was dropping the condom in the wastebasket beside his bed. He pulled off the top blanket, which they'd never gotten around to taking off the bed, and then pulled the remaining sheet and comforter over them both. Scooting forward to drape an arm over Ray's torso, he asked, "Are you alright?"

"I'm dead," Ray told him, feeling the most relaxed he'd felt in forever. "I am mush, and to mush I have returned."

"You're blithering, Ray," Benton whispered, smiling like it was a secret.

"What, I'm supposed to make sense after all that?"

"You love me," Benton said, still smiling that goddamned beautiful, just-between-you-and-me-except-I'm-going-to-scream-it-to-the-whole-world smile.

"Nooo," Ray said sarcastically. "I just spent four months going to cultural events and doing my impression of a prom date just for kicks."

"You love me."

"Hell, yes, I love you," he said firmly, absolutely serious.

Benton was gorgeous, a lighthouse still, showing him the way home. "And I you, Ray."

* * *

"You're Ray Kowalski?" Ray Vecchio demanded.

"Stanley Raymond Kowalski," Benton supplied.

"Don't help me, Benton," Ray muttered.

"You're the guy who replaced me?" Vecchio asked, looking every inch the dangerous mobster he was impersonating.

"Yes, indeed, after a manner of speaking - "

Ray was not surprised when Vecchio decked him. Still, sitting on the floor, he was only surprised that it hadn't happened sooner - like, on _sight_

Benton crouched down by his side, his body subtly shielding Ray from Vecchio. "Ray, please don't hit Ray. I'd hoped the both of you might get along."

"Benny!" Vecchio yelled. "This fuck is from IA - he's been investigating me!"

Benton had carefully turned Ray's chin towards him to examine the damage. "Well, yes, Ray, I'm aware of that. Although I feel it neccessary to add that he wasn't there to investigate you exclusively."

"Benton," Ray said, "he split my lip - he doesn't care."

"Try not to talk," Benton advised distractedly.

"You're damn right I don't care!" Vecchio said, still making like a volcano. "And - 'Benton'?" Vecchio said incredulously.

Benton was carefully dabbing at the corner of Ray's mouth with a handkerchief. "In your absence, Ray and I became partners."

"I know that, Benny, but I can't believe you'd work with scum from..." Vecchio trailed off, staring hard at them both.

Benton was still cupping Ray's face in his hands, and Vecchio narrowed his eyes.

Ray felt himself blush - dammit, dammit, dammit - under Vecchio's regard, and Vecchio's eyebrows nearly went up off his forehead.

"Partners?" he asked, disbelievingly. "Benny, you _slept_ with him?!"

"I wouldn't characterize our relationship solely in those terms, but that's essentially correct."

"Oh, god," Ray moaned, leaning forward to hide his face in Benton's shoulder.

"Benny, he's IA. He's the lowest of the low, he's scum, he gives cops a bad name! How could you?"

Benton's fingers tightened on Ray's shoulders. "He cleared you of any wrong-doing, Ray, and has performed his duties in an exemplary manner."

"He has a right to be angry, Benton," Ray said into his shoulder.

"Perhaps," Benton allowed. "But not to speak ill of you."

"For the love of God, Benny, don't you think before you do these things? First _her_, and now this - this _imposter_-"

Benton stood up abruptly, and _holy shit_, was he pissed. Ray had done and said his share of stupid, hurtful things, but whatever Vecchio just said took the cake.

"Benton," he said worriedly, not liking the stiff set to his shoulders.

Even Vecchio seemed to realize that whatever he'd said was over the line, and held up his hands in a non-threatening, let's-just-calm-down gesture. "Benny, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."

Ray struggled to his feet. "Benton," he said softly, touching his elbow. "Come on, let it go."

Benton's jaw was clenched and he was staring at Vecchio, but he slowly relaxed.

"Tell you what, I'll go on ahead," Ray said. "You guys can talk." On his way out the door, he turned and said, "No hitting - I mean it."

Benton and Vecchio nodded grimly, and Ray shut the door behind him.

* * *

Ray had instincts, and his instincts were telling him that bad, bad things were about to happen. Exhibit A was Vecchio sitting at his - _their_ \- desk, impatiently shuffling through everything. "Hey," he said, voice low. "I realize you've been gone for awhile, but that's _my_ desk."

"It was mine first, Stanley, so get used to it. Jesus Christ, what a pigsty."

Ray felt his hands clench into fists at his side. "Better than the piles of crap you left around."

"My piles were organized. What the hell is this?"

"Modern art," Ray snapped. "Look, I know you're pissed off, _anybody_ in your situation would be pissed off -"

"What do you think that you know about my situation, Kowalski? I go undercover with the Mob, and I come back, only to find out that not only am I being investigated by a creep like you from IA, but my best friend apparently thinks this is okay."

Everybody in the room, all of whom had been pretending like hell that they weren't listening to every word, took in a collective breath of surprise. So much for his cover.

"Benton _didn't_ think it was okay," Ray said, more furious at the slight to Benton than to himself. "For a long time, he didn't know, and when he found out, he socked me."

Vecchio stopped for a minute. "He hit you?"

Ray touched his jaw. "Pretty much right where you did."

Vecchio was frowning. "No shit."

"What I'm trying to say is - "

"KOWALSKI!" Welsh bellowed. "My office, now!"

Ray heaved a sigh and went into the lion's den. "Yes, sir?"

"Since you and Vecchio have wasted no time in getting acquainted, I think I may speak for both myself and Lieutenant Scislowicz. Take a couple of days, Kowalski."

"But sir!" Ray protested, though he knew it would do him no good.

"Out. There'll be more than a few hot tempers around here. Get out, let things settle, and then we'll see where we are."

"Yes, sir," Ray said, defeated. He didn't really want to go back out into the bullpen, but he did. And because he'd done a job that needed doing, he made himself meet every pair of disbelieving, angry eyes on the way out.

* * *

Ray woke up a little when he heard the front door lock turn. He checked the clock - it was a little after one in the morning, but Benton had a key, so Ray moved over in bed to make room.

But Benton didn't crawl into bed beside him. Instead, he sat on the bed near Ray's middle and shook his shoulder gently. "Ray," he said.

Ray yawned and snuggled into his pillow. "Come to bed?" he murmured, eyes still closed.

"Ray, please, I need you to wake up."

The urgency in Benton's voice forced him into a sitting position. "What, what? Are you okay?"

Benton was still in uniform, and he looked sick and scared and determined, all at the same time.

"Ray, do you trust me?"

"Of _course_ I trust you," Ray said, rubbing his eyes. "Benton, what's going on?"

"Will you come to Canada with me?"

Ray stared at him. "Right now?"

"Right now. Ray, there's a man, by the name of Muldoon - god, Ray, for the first time I've found him, I know where he's going, I can _catch_ him -"

Ray rubbed Benton's shoulder hard, trying to ground him. "Okay, okay. Let me get some clothes on." He flicked on the overhead light and struggled into yesterday's jeans. "What did this Muldoon do, anyway?"

Benton said nothing, and Ray slowly turned around.

Softly, so softly that Ray wasn't sure he'd heard it at first, Benton said, "He killed my mother, Ray."

In his mind, Ray could see Benton's personnel file perfectly, could remember the entry that said *Mother - Caroline Fraser (deceased)*.

Holy fuck.

He threw on a sweater and pulled on his boots. He reached for his holster and the lockbox with his gun, but Benton made a move as if to stop him. "Ray, you can't carry that in Canada-"

"Fuck that, Benton," he said roughly, pulling the holster into place. "You can carry it when we get to the border. We're not going unarmed."

Benton's eyes widened, but he nodded.

"Okay, okay. Coat, glasses, anything else?"

"No. We need to hurry, Ray."

Which was how they found themselves on an Air Canada flight at five in the morning. There was this horrible, vibrating desperation in Benton, one which Ray was as aware had it been a visible phenomena. Ray had questions, lots of them, but it was the crack of dawn and Benton was clearly almost out of his head. So Ray settled for holding his hand under the blanket the flight attendant provided them.

They were waiting for bush plane owned by a friend of Benton's to get in, when Ray decided that this whole chase would work a lot better if Ray were more filled in.

"Okay, Benton. We're here, in Canada, and you seem to know where we're going. I could use a little more information, here."

Benton took a deep breath. "The other day, after you went to the station, Ray Vecchio told me something. He recently had a dealing with Muldoon, while undercover. Muldoon disappeared after he killed my mother - my father hunted him, but was never able to find him. Hence, when Ray mentioned his name to me, I could hardly believe it. I had thought that he might be dead, but it seemed that he was very much alive and still had not answered for his crimes."

Ray fiddled with the zipper on his coat. "So, um. Why not just call the RCMP up here and have them pick him up?"

Benton looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Hearsay - which is effectively what I have - wasn't enough to convince Inspector Thatcher. She was unwilling to put in a call for what she deemed a wild goose chase."

"Huh. So, this is what? Vacation time?"

Benton cleared his throat. "Actually, I'm afraid I entrusted Diefenbaker to Turnbull's care, and told him I would need the use of several sick days."

"And he was cool with that?"

"Turnbull is a man of vast sentiment - once I told him the reasons for my departure, he became quite...distressed, and promised to take care of things in my absence."

A plane touched down on the runway, and Ray tried not to freak out that he was about to ride in something so small.

"Well, go Turnbull. So where are we headed?"

Benton waved at the pilot. "Inuvik. Ray, shouldn't you call Leftenant Welsh and let him know that you won't be in today?"

"He gave me the day off," Ray said, which was technically true. "And even if he hadn't, you think I'd let you do this alone?"

Benton found his hand and squeezed it tight. "I'm glad you're with me, Ray."

Ray, Benton, and a large quantity of head cheese headed north.

* * *

Ray was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Benton was basically comatose in Chicago. Because there just was no comparison with how freaking _alive_ he was here, with nothing but snow as far as the eye could see.

Once they had touched down in Inuvik, Benton had led them to a building on the outskirts of town. In short order, Ray was bundled in a parka, mukluks, a weirdo hat, and some really fantastic gloves. Waiting outside was an honest-to-god dogsled, which Benton carefully tucked him into before getting on.

It was so odd, so strangely dreamlike to be flying over the snow like this. The only sounds were that of the sled dogs yipping and the quiet shush of the sled racing over the snow. Ray didn't have to look behind him to see that Benton was happy, happier than he'd ever seen. Which was kind of whacked, considering what they were headed toward, but one thing was for sure.

Benton Fraser was home.

Ray was happy for him, really, although it made him feel pretty shitty to have spent all this time with Benton, to have spent all this time loving him, and yet have no fricking clue how much home meant to the man. * Some boyfriend you are, Kowalski*, he thought with a snort.

Ray honestly couldn't have said how much time passed before they arrived at Buck Frobisher's detachment. Frobisher had apparently been Benton's father's partner, and Benton was certain that he would help if he could.

Weirdly enough, Frobisher didn't really seem surprised to see them. "Ah, Benton. Your father said..." he trailed off and looked at Ray, as if noticing him for the first time. "Well, you know about your father. And the things he, er, said."

Benton nodded quickly. Ray squinted at them both and decided that Benton's dad must have been a freak, too.

"I have news," Benton said, pulling off his outerwear. "I have reason to suspect that Holloway Muldoon will be in the area tomorrow morning."

Frobisher looked both astonished and troubled. "Good lord, I can hardly believe he's still alive. Son, your father's pursuit of Muldoon consumed him for a year, but he never found him."

Benton nodded grimly. "I remember. Only too well."

"I don't like the idea of you going alone," Frobisher said.

Ray finally escaped from his parka. "He's not going alone. I'm going with."

Frobisher eyed him. "And who might you be, son?"

"Ah, forgive me," Ben said hastily. "This is Ray Kowalski, my partner."

"The Yank," Frobisher said under his breath, which was a little weird. What was it with Canadians, anyway? "Well. Welcome to Canada, son."

"Um. Thanks," Ray said.

Benton was looking a little red in the face, but it was probably just the sudden heat.

Later that night, Ray and Benton were bundled together on a pallet on the floor, sleeping bags and thick blankets making a warm sort of nest around them. The warmth and Ray's exhaustion pulled him closer to sleep, but he could feel the rigidity of Benton's body behind him. "Suppose it's useless to tell you that you should sleep, huh?" he murmured sympathetically.

Benton held him closer and rubbed his nose against the back of Ray's neck. "I can't stop thinking," he said quietly. "I'm just...I'm having a hard time believing that it could be this simple after all these years, but I want to believe so badly."

"I get that," Ray said, rubbing one hand over Benton's. Didn't take much imagination to figure out how the poor guy must be feeling right now. "You should try to sleep, though. You're a Mountie - you'll get your man."

Benton squeezed him once, and not long after, sleep came to Ray at last.

* * *

"He has a grenade launcher. What the hell do we have?" Ray whispered furiously.

"Our brains, our bodies, and your gun," Benton said.

"Great."

Just then, they heard a cracking noise and a yelp. They traded glances before warily advancing on Muldoon's location.

"It would appear to be an abandoned mine shaft," Benton said, inspecting the hole. Muldoon's grenade launcher was a few feet away, but from the tracks in the snow, the only place he could have gone was down. "Perhaps he's injured."

"Perhaps he's down there with another grenade launcher, waiting for us to show our faces," Ray snapped.

"I'm going down there," Benton said.

"Alright, alright, hold your horses. Can we do this the smart way and not the completely retarded way? 'Cause there's no Dief to haul our bacon out of the fire this time, and if you think I'm letting you go down there by yourself, you are even more unhinged than I thought."

Benton nodded and went back to the snowmobile and brought back a backpack.

"What's in it?" Ray asked.

"Fifty feet of nylon cord and a grappling hook."

"Which you just happened to bring."

"Well, Ray, proper preparation..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let's do this thing."

They slowly lowered themselves down the mineshaft, but when they touched ground, Muldoon was nowhere to be seen.

"Maybe he didn't really fall down here," Ray said. Of course, that was the moment when Muldoon grabbed him from behind and pulled his own gun on him.

"Well, now. Benton Fraser. You know, your father couldn't catch me. What made you think you could?" he rasped.

Benton went stock still. "If you harm him, you will not leave this place alive."

"I'd listen to him, if I were you," said a new voice. An older Mountie stepped out of the shadows.

"You're dead," Muldoon said, although he didn't seem too sure about that.

"So I am," the Mountie said, before cocking the gun in his hands. "Doesn't mean I can't do this, though."

"Dad, no," Benton said.

The _fuck_?

"This was wrong thirty years ago. It's wrong now."

The older Mountie - Ben's _dad_? - stared at Muldoon for a few long seconds, before saying, "You'll bring him in, son?"

"I'll bring him in," Benton promised.

"Well, then." With that, the Mountie brought the butt of his gun down hard on Muldoon's head, and Muldoon collapsed in a heap.

"Thanks," Ray said, carefully retrieving his gun. "So, okay, wait a second. You're Benton's dad?"

The Mountie nodded. "Bob Fraser, pleased to meet you."

"Ray Kowalski. And, just so we're clear, you're really dead?"

"Oh, I'm as dead as they come."

"Right. Okay." He turned to Benton. "Can I have hysterics now?"

"Oh, buck up, son. You'd think you never saw a ghost before. Hadn't you better secure your prisoner?" Benton's dad said, waving at Muldoon.

Ray handed his cuffs to Fraser, who swiftly snapped them around the man's wrists. "There's one good thing about being here in Canada, I suppose."

"What's that, Ray?"

"I don't have to write up the report for this."

"I'll help," Bob Fraser said.

"You're _dead_," Benton snapped.

"It does wonders for your perspective, son. Why, Buck Frobisher and I, oh the times we used to have, writing up incident reports. Buck was never much of a typist..."

* * *

Murderer brought to justice - check. Benton's mother avenged - check. Ray's relative sanity - down the toilet.

It turned out that Buck Frobisher could also see Bob Fraser, which finally convinced Ray that it was not some delusion of Benton's that he had somehow become part of. It did sort of explain some of Benton's weirdness - if Bob Fraser was popping up randomly and talking to him, Ray would probably not make much sense, either.

"How you doing?" he asked Benton when they were alone.

"Relieved. Happy," Benton said, and he really looked it, too. "And Sergeant Frobisher had some unexpected news, as well - it turns out that Muldoon was trafficking in illegal firearms and poison gas. I'm going to be offered a promotion as a reward."

Ray threw his arms around Benton. "That's great! That's good news, that's what I like to hear-"

"And a transfer."

Ray pulled back to look at him. "Yeah? To where?"

"Home," Benton said.

"Oh," Ray said numbly. Home had never been Chicago for Benton, and he damn well knew it, but still.

"Ray, may I ask what your plans for the future are?"

He avoided Benton's eyes. "Um. That's the thing. I don't really know. Vecchio kind of spilled the beans at the 2-7, so pretty much everybody hates my guts."

Benton inhaled sharply. "When did this happen?"

"Day before we left."

"And you didn't tell me?" Benton accused, sounding hurt.

"We were busy," Ray said defensively.

"Let's leave that aside for now. I asked you what your plans were, Ray, because I want to be a part of them. In fact, I'd like them to be our plans, together."

"Oh," Ray said, blinking at him. "I - wow. I'd like that, too."

And he really didn't know how that was going to work, but he kissed Benton anyway.

* * *

Benton took Ray to his father's cabin. It looked sorrowful in the expanse of snow, the charred remains of the frame the only testament to its existence. Ray knew that Benton hadn't grown up here, but he got that it was big-time symbolic, of Bob Fraser's death (not that this seemed to get in the man's way) and of Benton's exile to Chicago.

"She burned it, you know." There was an unusual emphasis on the pronoun, one that Ray had heard before. Benton was staring at the wreckage, and he seemed remote, lost. It sounded like an old hurt in his voice, one Ray recognized intimately, having heard it from his own lips far too often in the aftermath of the divorce. It was like shrapnel embedded, and you tried to heal around it, but the hurt would never go away until you pulled it out.

"She?" Ray prompted gently.

Standing in the snow together, Benton recounted the tale of Victoria Metcalf, fleshing out the skeletal story laid out in Vecchio's files. Details and bare facts, Ray had known, but none of this awful, wrenching pain that Benton had suffered. Benton went quiet eventually, still staring at the rubble.

There was only one thing for it. "The foundation doesn't look too bad," Ray said slowly. "New frame, new walls, patch up the chimney - we could do that." He could see it, he really could. When he was a teenager, he bitched up and down about his uncles using him for construction slave labor on precious Saturday mornings, but secretly, he liked planning things out, liked how he could begin to see how a couple of things would turn into a whole.

Benton was looking at him, with something like hope, something like that first dogsled trip across vast snowfields. "Spring thaw - I can get lumber from Old Joe McKinney. But I don't have tools - my father must have, but - "

"I have tools," Ray interrupted. "Everything we need. It's like a, whaddyacallit, dowry."

Benton's lips silently shaped the word. "Oh," he said after a moment, like you could have knocked him over with a feather.

"It's like this," Ray told him. "You got us a place to live, I got the tools to fix it up nice. That's us, right? A one-two punch. I'm here to tell you, Benton, there's red ships and green ships but no ships like partnerships."

Benton sank to one knee in the snow in front of him and reached blindly for Ray's hands, eyes never leaving his face. "Ray, I know I'm not - I mean, I don't have-"

Ray knelt down too and threw his arms around Benton's shoulders. He felt absolutely calm, like he'd never been frightened in his life and wasn't about to start now. "I got instincts, Benton, so let me tell you how I think this is going to work. You and me, we'll go back to Chicago, pack up my stuff, get my tools. Then we come back here - right here - and we make this partnership official. How does that sound?"

Benton's shoulders were shaking slightly, and Ray pulled back to look at him. Benton was sort of half-laughing, half-crying. "My father calls you 'crazy Yank', and I swear, you're the craziest, _bravest_ one I know."

Ray grinned at him, because this was right, this was all finally right. "So what do you say, partner? Want to get hitched?"

Benton wiped at his eyes, and then said, "Only if my father can give me away."

They both collapsed in the snow, helpless with laughter.

* * *

They were on the plane back to Inuvik, after having said their goodbyes in Chicago.

They were holding hands, but not under a blanket this time. Benton gently stroked Ray's ring finger. "I have two months of vacation time due to me. Do you have any ideas for our honeymoon?"

Ray looked at him and grinned lazily. "Well, what kind of vacation would it be if you didn't get the chance to endanger my life in a wildly bizarre way?"

"Really, Ray," Benton said reprovingly. "Still, is there somewhere in particular you'd like to go?"

Ray had an idea, but maybe it was a little silly. "Um, I was kind of thinking about you telling me about Franklin, and all the guys who went looking for him."

Benton nodded, and he wasn't laughing, so Ray warmed to his topic.

"See, I've been a cop for a long time, and some people might say that's plenty of adventure. But I want, you know, a real one. A real adventure out in the snow. Could we...could we do that?"

"You want to look for the Hand of Franklin?"

Ray nodded firmly. "The reaching out one."

Ben was quiet for a minute. "If you want to go, we should go now, before Spring break-up. Afterwards, the cabin should be ready to be worked on."

"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds like a plan. You and me and Dief and Franklin, and then we'll make everything shipshape at home."

"Home," Benton repeated, grinning like a loon.

"Yeah," Ray said. "Home."

* * *

Ray was scrutinizing the window near the bed. Was it his imagination, or was it slightly crooked? He turned his head sideways and peered at it. Maybe it hadn't been set right. Maybe it was the fault of the ugliest curtains in creation, courtesy of one of the locals.

And where was that _noise_ coming from?

"Benton!" he hollered.

He heard Benton's footsteps cross the cabin before he poked his head in bedroom doorway. He was wiping a plate with a kitchen towel. "Yes, Ray?"

"Does this window look crooked to you?"

Benton rolled his eyes. "Ray, you measured it no less than nine times. And you said, 'dot it, file it, stick it in a box marked done.' If you need more construction projects, the Nields in town have been hinting after you."

"Yeah?" Ray said.

They both froze as they heard the unmistakable whine of a saw.

Coming from the linen closet outside the bathroom.

They broke out of their paralysis simultaneously and Ray threw open the closet door.

There was the beginnings of a second cabin in their closet. Also, there were two people. "Hi, sons," Bob Fraser said. "Since you've decided to put down roots, your mother and I decided we'd better build a place to stay when we come to visit."

Benton dropped the plate he was drying.

The woman - Caroline Fraser, apparently - looked up. "Don't you two look handsome," she said warmly.

Benton's mouth was working, but no sound was coming out.

"Close your mouth, Benton dear, you look like a fish. And you - not so skinny anymore," she said, waving in Ray's direction approvingly.

Ray and Benton stared at Caroline and Bob Fraser, both of whom were beaming.

"Undead inlaws," Ray muttered finally. "And I thought Stella's parents were bad."

"Well, son," Bob said in Benton's direction, "you're no blushing bride, that's for certain, what with you living in sin with the Yank for the past year."

"Hey!" Ray protested, ready to bust anyone for a bad word to Benton, never mind that Bob was non-corporeal (usually).

"Still, better late than never. Welcome to the family, son," he said heartily to Ray.

"I'm hallucinating, aren't I?" Benton whispered to Ray.

"Don't be such a baby. You'd think you'd never seen a ghost before," Ray said. Though he was starting to get worried that Benton was going to just drop. He was looking pretty dangerously pale.

"Look," Ray said to his new inlaws. "I'm gonna to take my husband here back into the real world, give him a nice paper bag to breathe through since I think he's about to hyperventilate. We'll see you folks later, okay?"

"Dinner?" Caroline said hopefully. "I'll make meatloaf."

Ray stopped in the doorway. "Mashed potatoes?" he asked.

"Best in the Territories," Bob affirmed.

"Okay," Ray said, before steering Benton out and shutting the closet door behind him.

"Ray, I swear I had _no idea_. I thought they would just go off together in the afterlife. How was I to know that they were going to _visit_?" Benton asked despairingly.

"That's parents for you," Ray said. "Although mine only drove off to Arizona, so maybe yours deserve extra points in the effort department."

"You're not making me feel any better."

"Awww," Ray said, making a pouty face at him. "Tell you what. We'll go in the kitchen, you'll drink a nice bracing cup of bark tea, and later we'll have dinner with your parents."

"Ray, you realize that the food might be intangible?"

Ray swatted him. "Benton, I know you haven't seen your mom since you were six, but I'm telling you: don't insult her cooking."

"I just meant - "

"I know, I know." Ray pushed him down into a chair in the kitchen and leaned over to kiss him. "So after dinner and after your folks have taken off to do whatever it is afterliving people do, we'll lock the closet door and I'll make you feel better," Ray said, straddling Benton's lap. "A lot better."

Benton hugged him close. "Deal."

Ray wiggled in his lap a little. "I'll bet you a hundred that the meatloaf is real."

"A hundred of what?"

"A hundred of air."

"I'll see your hundred and raise you a thousand."

"That sure of yourself, huh?"

"I view it as a sort of win-win situation."

Ray snickered. "You'd better be able to honor your wager."

"Oh, I'm good for it, Ray. Perhaps you'd like a demonstration of good faith?"

"Oh, _hell_ yes," Ray said, as Benton lifted him up and then bore him down onto the kitchen table.


End file.
